CHAPTER FIFTY‑FOUR — A LIAR LAID BARE
The moment the princess issued her command, Liu Ruyue remained outwardly composed. She did not panic, for she was certain—absolutely certain—that nothing incriminating was hidden on her person.
Of course, she had no idea that the Third Prince had already ensured otherwise.
At the princess's signal, a palace maid stepped forward. It was the very same maid who had slipped the items onto Liu Ruyue moments earlier, unnoticed by all but two pairs of eyes.
She performed a perfunctory pat‑down—light, symbolic, almost lazy—before her hand suddenly stilled. With a swift motion, she withdrew two objects from Liu Ruyue's robes.
A collective gasp swept through the hall.
Tang Ke Xin's eyes gleamed.
One item was a human‑skin mask—thin, pliable, and unmistakably crafted for disguise. She had expected this. The Third Prince's earlier gesture—his fingers brushing his cheek—had been a silent clue.
But the second item…
Ah.
That was truly vicious.
Truly ruthless.
And truly brilliant.
Tang Ke Xin's lips twitched.
The Third Prince is indeed the most unscrupulous man in the world. Number one under the heavens.
Her understanding of him rose to an entirely new level.
But she could not deny it—their coordination had been flawless.
Princess Yi stared at the items, stunned.
"Is this not the secret manual I was to present to His Majesty?" she exclaimed, pointing at the wrapped bundle.
She had never seen the real manual, of course, but the packaging was identical. That alone was enough to shake the hall.
"And this mask…" The princess picked it up gingerly. "It must have been used to disguise oneself."
She unfolded it carefully, only to find it torn.
"Oh dear… what a pity. It's broken."
Tang Ke Xin nearly laughed aloud.
The Third Prince had thought of everything.
A perfect mask would raise suspicion.
A damaged one—used, discarded—fit the narrative seamlessly.
A fox indeed.
A cunning, meticulous fox.
And the book?
He had found a text obscure enough that no one—not even the Emperor—would recognise it.
Tang Ke Xin found herself curious.
What exactly had he chosen?
The hall erupted into murmurs of shock.
The Emperor's expression darkened. His gaze lingered on the black‑wrapped book, his eyes narrowing with dangerous calculation.
Then his voice rang out—cold, sharp, merciless.
"Wicked servant. You dared to assassinate the princess, steal the secret manual, and frame Miss Tang. Guards—cut off her hand."
A chill swept through the hall.
Hands severed on the spot—such punishment was brutal, bloody, unforgettable.
But the Emperor did not mention the manual itself.
He did not ask to inspect it.
He did not demand it be presented.
Tang Ke Xin understood instantly.
He knows it is not the real secret manual.
He was playing along—cooperating with the trap—to uncover the mastermind behind it all.
The hall trembled with fear.
Tang Ke Xin had been the Prime Minister's daughter, the Empress's niece. Even if she had been found guilty, the Emperor would have hesitated.
But Liu Ruyue?
She was nothing.
A merchant's daughter.
A pawn.
And someone had placed her here deliberately.
Someone with influence.
Someone with reach.
Liu Ruyue collapsed to the floor, trembling violently.
"Mercy, Your Majesty! Spare me! I do not know how these things came to be on my body! They are not mine! I have been wronged!"
Tang Ke Xin stepped forward, her voice soft yet chilling.
"Wronged? You framed me. And now you claim you are wronged?"
Her tone was calm, almost gentle—but each word struck like a blade.
Liu Ruyue broke instantly.
"Yes! I—I framed you! But I did not do the other things!"
Of course she confessed.
She was terrified.
And she hoped that admitting one crime would absolve her of the rest.
Tang Ke Xin smiled inwardly.
She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that carried across the hall.
"You still wish to quibble?"
Her gaze drifted deliberately to Liu Ruyue's hands.
"They are very white. Very delicate. It would be a pity if they were chopped off."
Liu Ruyue shrieked and hid her hands in her sleeves, shaking uncontrollably.
"I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything! Please—please spare me!"
Tang Ke Xin waited silently.
Liu Ruyue gulped.
"Someone found me yesterday…"
She hesitated.
Tang Ke Xin's eyes narrowed.
"A man or a woman?"
"A… a man," Liu Ruyue whispered.
"Continue."
"He said he could cure my poison. But I had to do something for him. He arranged for me to enter the palace… to frame you. He arranged everything—the time, the place. He gave me the dagger beforehand. I never saw his face."
She spoke quickly, breathlessly, as though afraid the truth would strangle her if she paused.
Tang Ke Xin listened, then said calmly:
"Most of what you said is true. But one part is a lie."
Liu Ruyue froze.
"Which part?"
"You said you never saw his face."
The hall held its breath.
Tang Ke Xin's voice was steady, precise.
"When you spoke of the other details, your eyes moved up and to the left. That is the direction people look when recalling real memories. It cannot be faked."
She stepped closer.
"But when you said you did not see his face, your eyes shifted to me—directly into my eyes."
Ye Lan Chen frowned.
"Shouldn't looking into your eyes mean she's telling the truth?"
Tang Ke Xin smiled faintly.
"That is the simplest lie. Everyone knows liars avoid eye contact. And liars know that everyone knows. So the clever liar does the opposite—they stare directly into your eyes to see if you believe them."
Ye Lan Chen nodded slowly.
"Oh… so that's how it works."
The hall erupted into whispers.
And Liu Ruyue's face crumpled.
She had been caught.
Tang Ke Xin's voice remained calm, almost scholarly, as she continued her explanation.
"Furthermore," she said lightly, "when a deceiver lies while forcing themselves to maintain eye contact, their concentration becomes so intense that their eyes dry. And when the eyes dry, the body reacts instinctively—by blinking."
Her tone was soft, but the words landed with the weight of a verdict.
A hush fell over the hall.
Not a whisper.
Not a rustle.
Only the faint, uneven sound of breathing.
Everyone stared at Tang Ke Xin with a mixture of awe and disbelief.
Her observation was frighteningly sharp.
She had noticed details no ordinary person would ever see—tiny shifts in gaze, the direction of eye movement, the subtle blink of a liar.
And more importantly, she had used those details to pierce straight through to the truth.
There was no doubt now.
Liu Ruyue had lied.
At last, Mu Shaoyi—who had been sitting rigidly in the hall, his face pale and strained—could bear it no longer. He rose abruptly to his feet.
"Yue'er," he demanded, voice tight with emotion, "what is going on?"
Liu Ruyue flinched as though struck.
Her entire body trembled.
"I—I don't know," she stammered, her voice barely audible.
And then—without thinking—she lifted a hand to her face, covering her brow, shielding her eyes.
A small, instinctive gesture.
A gesture of someone who wished to hide.
Tang Ke Xin's lips curved into a cold, knowing smile.
She watched Liu Ruyue with eyes as sharp as a blade, her gaze sliding over the girl's trembling form.
There it is, she thought.
The last telltale signs that she is lying.
Her eyes narrowed, gleaming with quiet triumph.
The hall had seen enough.
And Tang Ke Xin had seen everything.